En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sentry Box 5th Feast

Obtuse is my thought, an error of links,
a valor of my memory, property to demise,
shelter my cause and my candles' wicks,
this advent of an older dream is not wise..

I recall my equities of long lost causes,
as there is nothing to approach my star,
if only a prayer.. Anxiety to rule my losses,
a cold poem of apostasy, is company to far..

Words, whisper me a tale, she bends above,
a bed of roses white, like purity, dim wail,
she cries my longing stills, trauma of dove,
waits for tears to surmise, in worlds to fail.

It was your face in the wind, a Spring haze,
my dream, it was a dry land, relentless ail,
my eyes opened in a world, outside of blaze,
for five years I waited, and you, death-pale...

A soldier in a bullet's straight adoring waste,
To encounter on April morn, a nefarious mist,
a shot, a shot, my ears died, a Crimson taste,
I smile on my year 5th, of sentry box's feast.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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To

The Day was dying; his breath
Wavered away in a hectic gleam;
And I said, if Life's a dream, and Death
And Love and all are dreams -- I'll dream.

A mist came over the bay
Like as a dream would over an eye.
The mist was white and the dream was grey
And both contained a human cry,

The burthen whereof was "Love",
And it filled both mist and dream with pain,
And the hills below and the skies above
Were touched and uttered it back again.

The mist broke: down the rift
A kind ray shot from a holy star.
Then my dream did waver and break and lift --
Through it, O Love, shone thy face, afar.

So Boyhood sets: comes Youth,
A painful night of mists and dreams;
That broods till Love's exquisite truth,
The star of a morn-clear manhood, beams.

poem by Sidney Lanier
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Boreas Wind

I shall carry your icon with me, I said
while my feeling on the wind, is spread,
a deity accepts my abstemious libation
without caring for my life's destination.

Sea waves, or songs beguile us, I said,
abut of a sea-shore to worship our dead,
an ornament to a dark Maenad's advent,
Because a stray dog barks to the world.

My words have fled along Boreas wind,
to reach a form, a dream, your silken glint
A glass spill of red wine oblation in mist
my soul flied, adorning your spent feast.

I recall your wishing lips, a smile of doll,
an image of a cumulus to carry my extol
Boreas blasted waving that mauve shawl
pain was obtuse, as my death enthralled.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Swept Idea

Beatitude whelmed is visiting my esteem,
to coincide with my remorse, and dream,
and there, as my unguarded pride rings,
another solitude to invent on lost sea links.

A shudder from the northern blow travels,
an antidote to my soul's solitude unravels
kills silent worlds where my failures hide
pushes my suspicion of a dim hope aside.

On dark roads my enthalpy is a dull emitter,
a fly in skies of a sole try, my altimeter,
your memory recounts, my fervor of cauma,
a knock on my tearing wound and trauma..

And still.. Today's dream is one more code,
that laughs as only one visitor will approach,
a wind carries last year in his cold embrace
my one attempt will wipe off, a sand trace.

The wind cries; it passes my soul's burden,
a message dim never read, call of a maiden,
that invites stranded souls of lost wars,
to wait on Heaven roads where ether soars.

A swept idea of a smile and another of tear,
her ghostly upwardly turned hands and stare,
guide my senses and my route towards tides,
where I felt her to wait for me inside Hades.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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I shall carry your icon

I shall carry your icon with me, I have said
because an icon is a burst of feel spread
a deity submits it's absences oblation
without caring for our life's destination

The waves come, go, return I have said
because we care to worship our lost, dead
an ornament to an impertinent Maenad advent
Or just because a Hydra barks to the world

My words have fled upon Boreas wind
to reach a form, a dream, your silken lint
as they whiff, a world's oblation of this hint
my soul flies, adorning a lingering feast

And I recall your inner thoughts, a smile of doll
your image of a cumulus to carry my extol
as if we engaged upon our worshiped fervor
as our pains became obtuse, Nymphs enthrall

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Haunted In Old Japan

I
Music of the star-shine shimmering o’er the sea
Mirror me no longer in the dusk of memory:
Dim and white the rose-leaves drift along the shore
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

II
All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,
Silent, silent voices, cry no more of home;
Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o’er the dim lagoon,
Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon.

III
We that loved in April, we that turned away
Laughing, ere the wood-dove crooned across the May,
Watch the withered rose-leaves drift along the shore.
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

IV
We that saw the winter waste the weeping bower,
We that saw the young love perish like a flower,
We that saw the dark eyes deepening with tears,
Hear the vanished voices in the land beyond the years.

V
We that hurt the thing we loved; we that went astray,
We that in the darkness idly dreamed of day . . .
. . . Ah! The dreary rose-leaves drift along the shore.
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

VI
Lonely starry faces, wonderful and white,
Yearning with a cry across the dim sweet night,
All our dreams are blown a-drift as flowers before a fan,
All our hearts are haunted in the heart of old Japan.

VII
Haunted, haunted, haunted; we that mocked and sinned
Hear the vanished voices wailing down the wind,
Watch the ruined rose-leaves drift along the shore;
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

VIII
We, the sons of reason, we that chose to bride
Knowledge and rejected the Dream that we denied,
We that mocked the Holy Ghost and chose the Son of Man, [1]
Now must wander haunted in the heart of old Japan

IX
Haunted, haunted, haunted, by the sound of falling tears,
Haunted, haunted, haunted, by the yearning of the years;
Ah! the phantom rose-leaves drift along the shore;
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

X
All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,
Sobbing, sobbing voices, cry no more of home:
Soft beyond the cherry trees, o’er the dim lagoon,
Dawns the crimson lantern of the large, low moon.

poem by Alfred Noyes
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On The Somme

The noise of the battle is over
And silence descends on the land
There's peace on the face of that soldier
We see lying there on the sand
No sound from those pale lips are uttered,
Or flicker from eyelids half-closed,
Blonde hair blowing soft in the chill wind
As if for a painting, he'd posed,
Where did you come from young soldier?
Who waited for you to come home
From the war to end wars? as they promised
Back to land from which you'd ne'er roam.
Perhaps there's a letter you cherished
In the pocket right next to your heart.
And a photo you gazed at with longing
So often since you were apart.
It was on the TV that we saw you
With an old man, who cried bitter tears
As he spoke of the comrades he'd lost there,
And the mud, and the pain, and the fears.
It's many long years since you fell there
But the world's never stopped talking 'bomb'
We haven't learnt much in between , lad,
Poor handsome young man on the Somme.

poem by Esther Barry
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The Year of the Rose

From the depths of the green garden-closes
Where the summer in darkness dozes
Till autumn pluck from his hand
An hour-glass that holds not a sand;
From the maze that a flower-belt encloses
To the stones and sea-grass on the strand
How red was the reign of the roses
Over the rose-crowned land!

The year of the rose is brief;
From the first blade blown to the sheaf,
From the thin green leaf to the gold,
It has time to be sweet and grow old,
To triumph and leave not a leaf
For witness in winter's sight
How lovers once in the light
Would mix their breath with its breath,
And its spirit was quenched not of night,
As love is subdued not of death.

In the red-rose land not a mile
Of the meadows from stile to stile,
Of the valleys from stream to stream,
But the air was a long sweet dream
And the earth was a sweet wide smile
Red-mouthed of a goddess, returned
From the sea which had borne her and burned,
That with one swift smile of her mouth
Looked full on the north as it yearned,
And the north was more than the south.

For the north, when winter was long,
In his heart had made him a song,
And clothed it with wings of desire,
And shod it with shoon as of fire,
To carry the tale of his wrong
To the south-west wind by the sea,
That none might bear it but he
To the ear of the goddess unknown
Who waits till her time shall be
To take the world for a throne.

In the earth beneath, and above
In the heaven where her name is love,
She warms with light from her eyes
The seasons of life as they rise,
And her eyes are as eyes of a dove,
But the wings that lift her and bear
As an eagle's, and all her hair
As fire by the wind's breath curled,
And her passage is song through the air,
And her presence is spring through the world.

So turned she northward and came,
And the white-thorn land was aflame
With the fires that were shed from her feet,
That the north, by her love made sweet,
Should be called by a rose-red name;
And a murmur was heard as of doves,
And a music beginning of loves
In the light that the roses made,
Such light as the music loves,
The music of man with maid.

But the days drop one upon one,
And a chill soft wind is begun
In the heart of the rose-red maze
That weeps for the roseleaf days
And the reign of the rose undone
That ruled so long in the light,
And by spirit, and not by sight,
Through the darkness thrilled with its breath,
Still ruled in the viewless night,
As love might rule over death.

The time of lovers is brief;
From the fair first joy to the grief
That tells when love is grown old,
From the warm wild kiss to the cold,
From the red to the white-rose leaf,
They have but a season to seem
As rose-leaves lost on a stream
That part not and pass not apart
As a spirit from dream to dream,
As a sorrow from heart to heart.

From the bloom and the gloom that encloses
The death-bed of Love where he dozes
Till a relic be left not of sand
To the hour-glass that breaks in his hand;
From the change in the grey garden-closes
To the last stray grass of the strand,
A rain and ruin of roses
Over the red-rose land.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Dreary Night

What happened on that day before the sun set?
Has anyone ever seen a star in the sky on a dreary night?
Has anyone ever ridden upon the tail of a shooting star?
Too hard for me to believe, as I cannot fathom reality-
I would go in my father’s garden trying to find myself- though
All I can see are the roses-
My eyes see clearly and I look all about but all I see are roses.

Yesterday I was walking home terrified of people walking behind me.
I saw a daffodil in full bloom, in all of its glory.
But I wept, though unobtrusively- tears of destitute fear.

It cannot be spring on the fourth day of February,
Although I may long for it to be-
I cannot sing songs of love and hopefulness, as
I have never been in love, or never wished to be.

I ask myself- have you ever seen a star on a dreary night?
Did you ever ride bareback upon the tail of a shooting star?
My sanity is buried beneath tons of stones upon
Which I have fallen, while running, trying to escape the pathway of my delusions-

I am strong inside, I have been told, and I rarely scream aloud.
When I close my eyes all I can see are roses-
As those growing in my father’s garden-
It has been years since he has passed away.

I hear voices early in the morning threatening me.
They cannot be silenced. It is still dark outside.
But when I close my eyes I can still see the roses- yellow, red and white-
I ask myself- what happened on that night I recall, twenty years ago?

My father died and his garden remains-
My mother died soon afterward, leaving nothing but memories behind.
I remember the daffodil I saw yesterday-
I should have picked it for my mother and placed it in a vase-
But she would never see it because she left this world- without saying “goodbye”.

I am a stranger to this world and am still trying to find my way through the darkness.
I could take a ride on the tail of a shooting star and close my eyes and dream, as
I am searching for a new place in time, even though mysteriously-
When I close my eyes- all I can see are the roses dancing in a gentle winter’s breeze,
Though they are now withering away and dying.

It is a dreary winter’s night - but the stars are out and the moon is full.
It now illuminates the path I walk and I would give my soul to the world for
Some peace of mind and all I can do is close my eyes and
Follow the pathway of my fantasies and pray-
My wish would be to see the light shine upon the world of my delusions.

As I close my eyes and wish upon a star I weep- though
All I can see are roses, their petals to the wind- dead to the world outside.
Darkness prevails but I believe I see a star on this dreary night, silencing my tears.
And while that daffodil looks striking beneath the light of the full moon-
A night has never looked so beautiful, not even in a dream.

poem by Claudia Krizay
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A Soldiers Dream

A soldier isn't just a soldier,
but a human being.
sent to fight over seas,
Sent to fight to please his leaders dream,
and as this soldier gets older, his only dream is to live.
But as years pass by, his hopes and dreams are thorn apart,
as he is sent to run to reach the other side,
as he runs through the open battlefield,
were the enemy waits for the kill.
And as this soldier stops and prays, the enemy is moved by this soldiers face.
The enemy lets this soldier flee,
know this soldier is free,
free to live his own dream.

poem by Juan Duarte
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The Distance

Do you think of me, when I think of you?
Do our hearts still beat in sync?
When I whisper your name do you hear me?
Or did you break the link?

I wonder when I dream of you,
If you dream of me as well.
Will you love me once again?
I guess time will only tell.

For every minute we're apart,
It seems like months and years.
I stare at your reflection,
In my pools of tears.

I long for you each and every day,
My heart is where you live.
I can be with you in my memory,
For you, my life I'd give.

I think of gazing in your eyes,
And forgetting the world outside.
When you took your love from me,
A big part of me died.

So I close my eyes and hold you tight,
And never let you go.
I love you sweetheart more than words,
More than you'll ever know.

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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I Dreamt A Dream

I dreamt a dream
But now I lay awake
Sleep far gone
But the dream goes on
Sweeter than sleep
More tender
Than a poem
Through eternity
Like an epic poem
Our love
Our home
All boundaries gone
Together
A second
A breath
A whisper
A chance
A moment
A blessing
A kiss
A prayer answered
Never spoken
Somehow from my heart
It strayed
Precious spirit
Teaching
Listening
Answering
C aring
The Spirit Moves between
Earth and Heavenly realms
Communicating with
You and me
The perfect seed
Faith
Hope
Charity
Virtue
Grace
And Love
Heaven on earth
Heaven above
Finding
Striving
Improving
Movi ng
Upon wings of a dove
From star to star
From light to light
Songs of worship
Songs of praise
Fill our nights
Fill our days
With dreams for you
With dreams for me
With dreams for us
With dreams of life
From a whisper
From a star
From a book
Never opened
From a book
Never Read
Words streaming now
Between heaven and earth
Between now and eternity
To your ears
To touch a place
Never touched
To bring you home to me
To break this grip
That locks your spirit
The dream is awake
For us to live
You have waited
And stayed awake
Share the hope
Share the dream
Stay free
Stay open
Dare to give
Dare to care
Dare to move
Dare to roam
Dare to live
Dare to dare
Life is where
Ever I go
I open doors
I overflow
With heavenly sweetness
With a heavenly glow

poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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Every Soldier Has A Dream

After a war a soldier sometimes has to cry as dreams of those memories waters in the eye.

It's very sad when this world of ours goes to war.
Peace is the thing that soldiers have fought and died for.

With hands held in the air a soldier cries a bit but people are blind to dreams that do not fit.

Some people abuse this world but one day they'll find that they've lost their battlefields and they are unklind.

Lost battlefields and dreams with no victories won, following the forgotten hero.
Here they come.

They bury the dream because they cannot recall what it was that made the Soldier stand proud and tall.

Soldiers come from all walks of life.
Sisters.
Brothers.
Soldiers with many dreams seldom shared with others.

Soldiers who had loved ones and families back home.
Some soldiers are just children
and still on their own.

Honoured I feel to remember soldiers this way.
I salute them have I your attention I say.

Stand at ease,
fall out.
Sir nobody knew his name.
Dear God you know who he was our dream was the same.

Undaunted was the soldier in the face of fear.
No turning back.
Each soldier shed a silent tear.

But I wonder why no one hears the soldiers cry.
Listen today as soldiers go to fight and die .

Try to imagine the soldiers forgotten dream.
Keep the memory of what the Soldier
had been.

It haunts us today and remains here in our time.
Ghosts with forgotten dreams remain.
Its such a crime.

What the soldier fought for is what we must redeem,
as we look back and try to recapture the dream.

The ship's sunk and they say,
we're glad we missed the cruise.
Don't take for granted things in life we shouldn't loose.

When the battle is over and the dreams don't sit.
Every soldier must cry just a little bit.

By Paul McCann

poem by Paul McCann
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Elims

Smile is hidden deep in tears
so let the tears flow in path of dreams
it will flood the dry land of fears
and will heal the scars of wounded years

Smile not just to me but to all you can see
spread the wings of hope and fly freely
to the heaven above leave the land of worry
to the thirsty sand pour your tears gently

Your smile gives reasons for tomorrow
to bright the sun and whisper to wind to blow
just smile and wait to fear to frown
to shine the moon and light the stars in glow

Your smile is written in a cold moonlight
your smile is a pearl in a warm seashore sand
your smile is a star in a stormy night
your smile is every beat deep inside my heart

poem by Ocean MisT
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Let me dream

I saw you today after so many years.
I was so happy I wipped away the tears.

The moment I saw your smile
It only took a while for me to notice...
It was you! !

Your beautiful eyes
They still have the power to mesmorize.

Seeing your face
How you move with such grace

Your smile shines brighter than the sun.
Your eyes more radient than the stars
Your voice how it makes the angels sing

Your so wonderful
Sometimes I think its just a dream
and if that be so..let me never wake

Let me sleep forever
just let me dream
Of my Romeo
Of my Edward Cullen
Of my everything
Let me dream
Just let me see your face again
Let me dream
That your not to good to be true
Let me dream
Of your smile one last time
Let me dream
And look into your eyes
Let me dream
At your side
Let me dream Dear Romeo, Let me dream....

poem by Trinidad Villafranca
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Fever Weaving

An evanescent swift spin,
a clockwise direction,
my sweet tale to whisper,
a collapsing of a star,
weave-heave it, I stare,
an asunder of dark mar,
and your petrified glare
to dismay or rejection.

End of time just dilates
of an astral light glazed,
detrimental to subside
in a desperation wail,
may recall it, if you saved
a lost life that befell,
in a persecution hunt
of a gloomy foolish haze.

An absurd of charioteer
on a strange path of life,
my song becomes elusive,
links my pillow of death,
in a graveyard to avoid
of lost lives even stealth,
fever dance of sly esprits
to expose their strife.

A demesne of my quill,
linear daunt, a red wine,
ludicrous is every year
on a deleterious sphere,
asymmetric music tones,
and an esoteric fair,
Destiny will laugh again -
to expended life's twine.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Dark Grace

Was it a dream? All my roads were broken,
and I, being alone, of what to think? I distune
my thoughts; am I one in the ash of molten,
out of the world, abolished dreams, buffoon?

The Mistral blows, (my soul) , to my direction,
it's a world stuck (welded) , this strange year,
in a deep dream, I foresaw, my suspension,
and I was again a buffoon protector of my tear.

My vain efforts may become a threaded toy,
of your wind, a song benign in your tale,
thrown unerringly by ghosts, foolish decoy..
And I, windy tall, here I 'll be, in this wail.

So, be in Mist! A cold drift will be your next,
upon a sculptured bark, vision of lone beauty..
Was I handsome in your eyes and my text
a dropping dropp of lifeless Ocean, and a treaty?

My soul trembles (I said) cause I see an empty,
vulgar destiny where your beauty passed,
alone in a dim cloud of years, a crowned pity,
and I was a tear in a world of foolish caste.

Of Angels was this masquerade, broken wings,
(as I said) , with my buffoon's colored face
A Mistral wind, and I, a puppet, without strings
after aphotic eyes stared in me, in dismal grace.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Dream Poem

this poem is a dream
you wish to escape

if only you would awake
you could forget this poem

words pursue you through
the white pages of this dream

the voices you hear have
been spoken by this poem

people reach out, they live
here, they dream of you

now you smile, eager to dream
on, but the poem is fa d i n g

poem by Bruce Deitrick Price
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The Man Who Sold The World (live, 1979-12-15: Saturday Night Live)

We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago
Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World
I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed
I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died along, a long long time ago
Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With the Man who Sold the World
Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With the Man who Sold the World

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gimme Shelter

Oh, the storm is threatening
My very life today.
If I dont get some shelter
Oh yeah, Im gonna fade away
War, children, its just a shot away
Its just a shot away
War, children, its just a shot away
Its just a shot away
See the fire sweepin
Our very streets today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost its way
War, children, its just a shot away
Its just a shot away
War, children, its just a shot away
Its just a shot away
Well, murder
Its just a shot away
Well, murder
Its just a shot away
Brother, sister
Its just a kiss away
Well, murder
Its just a kiss away, kiss away, kiss away

song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lover's Gifts XXXIX: There Is a Looker-On

There is a looker-on who sits behind my eyes. I seems he has seen
things in ages and worlds beyond memory's shore, and those
forgotten sights glisten on the grass and shiver on the leaves. He
has seen under new veils the face of the one beloved, in twilight
hours of many a nameless star. Therefore his sky seems to ache with
the pain of countless meetings and partings, and a longing pervades
this spring breeze, -the longing that is full of the whisper of
ages without beginning.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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